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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905215">trailblazing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd'>shutupnerd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arson, Fire, Kamukura Izuru Has Feelings, M/M, Oneshot, but he doesnt process or talk about them, junko being herself, kamukoma but its not the main focus its just there, mentions of the kamukura project, pocky, someone's setting shit on fire, this isnt super shippy but idk how to tag it, unedited</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:07:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ibuki has something to show to izuru. after junko is done with him, that is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enoshima Junko &amp; Kamukura Izuru, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito, kamukura izuru and mioda ibuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>trailblazing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey hey hey hey hi whats up homies ive been dealing with like kind of a dearth of ideas lately i miss having a bigass project to work on but also i would die if i made another Big Thing so close after i finished the last Big Thing so hi i have this. i rlly like to treat the beginning note as like a status update but its fun. a glimpse into the fenscape if you will. ANYWAY its finally starting to warm up and shit here and i can go outside again and it's been doing wonders. going out in the sun slaps dont let anyone tell u different. ok ok ok im just rambling you can ignore all this it has nothing to do with the actual fic. you can go. read that. have fun &lt;3 :3c</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know they called you a pet, sometimes. A pet god.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He already has a headache--he doesn’t feel like giving her the time of day today. But it’s not like there’s anything else to do. Izuru could leave, technically, by window. She’s blocked off the door already so that nobody bothers them. Or maybe so that he’s not able to leave so easily. But they’re on the fifth floor. Leaving would take a while, more time than was worth it.  So he leans back into the armchair and props up his head on a fist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They didn’t call me anything to my face.” It was only just Kamukura at best. Absolutely nothing, normally. But that didn’t matter anymore. “I suppose you picked that up from somewhere you shouldn’t have.” He crosses a leg over the other, staring up at her with a raised eyebrow. Junko gives him a salacious grin in return.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I listened in a little bit before I picked you up,” she said, slipping into her own chair across from him. “They really didn’t think much of you...except for what they could do with you. And look how that turned out.” There’s a beat-up box of Pocky on the table next to her. God only knew where she’d found it. She opens it up and tears the lining, offering him one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He holds up a hand in refusal. “And this is why you wanted to bother me? Handing me an old nickname from dead people?” He’s been operating under the assumption that all of them were dead. Dead, in hiding, or defecting to the Future Foundation as a low-level employee while lying about their involvement in his creation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I never come </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell you something.” She snaps off a part of the stick, crunching it in her mouth. “You know that by now, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Naturally.” But it’s not like she’s being forthcoming about what she actually wants. “So do you have something else you want to say?” She always does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They had you in a cage, you know.” The snap of the Pocky stick fills the room. “You don’t seem to ever really talk about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would you want me to say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing happened. Day in and day out, for months on end, it had been the same routine. Dark silence. Bland meals at random intervals, to keep him blind to whatever time had passed. He would be pulled out into a fluorescent white room and stripped down, put through test after test. Lights shone in his eyes and down his throat and vials of blood taken for tests, needles plunged deep into the base of his spine to desperately correct the singular mistake they’d made. Even those blinding lights were quickly monotonous and routine. They did it once a week. That was the only sense of time he had. But even then, there were pills with every meal. His sense of time was easily dulled. They had the tools to do it, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh...I don’t know. They had you on video all the time. All that shit’s loooong gone, but I saw a clip or two! You know...when I was looking for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know I was recorded,” he says flatly. “They never saw anything I didn’t want them to see.” There were cameras everywhere, when he was in that room. There are no cameras here, beyond the one slung around Koizumi’s neck. But eyes and ears are always open. They’re all watching, all the time. They all watch each other, but the gazes are so often trained on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s still being watched. But he’s always been watched. If anything, the eyes on him are far less intense than before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mind being watched?” She leans forward, boring big blue eyes into him. “You’re just okay with eyes on you all the time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath. “I know they report back to you.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know you’re watching me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The chair he’s found is surprisingly comfortable, softer and warmer than he’s ever been used to. “You like knowing what I’m up to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, sure, I’m not gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>deny </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! I’m always curious to know what you’re up to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room is quiet. He doesn’t have much to say. He’s tired, of all things. “You know, then.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About you and Komaeda? Yeah. Of course I do.” She offered him a Pocky again. This time, he takes it. “Weird pick. He was batshit even before I got to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “He’s interesting.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He also will do anything you say without question. Well, when he’s not caught up with the kids.” She giggles, crossing her ankles primly. Almost as if she was a proper lady. “You’re into that, then?” It feels like being at a sleepover. But the sun shines dimly through dingy windows. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whether he does what I say or not is inconsequential. His way of thinking is interesting.” He isn’t quite telling the truth. There’s more than interest there. There’s something that he chooses not to identify there instead. It’s grating, to have something unlabeled inside him. But keeping it like that is more pleasant than if he decides to dissect it. There are too many factors, too many nasty things wrapping him up for him to sit down and puzzle it all out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at him. “Be coy about it. We all know, though. No need to hide it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They just stare each other down while she eats. “Is there something else you want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not unless you want to play the Pocky game with me…” she coos, leaning forward in her chair towards him. “That could be--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He stands up, moves the furniture from the door. “When you actually need something, come find me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just pouts as he walks off. But he’s not left alone for long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hellooooo!” Footsteps come barreling down the hall, a tackle heading his way. He braces his body for the impact and the instigator is thrown over his shoulder before they can make contact with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands over the toppled figure, cocking his head to the side as she rolls into a sitting position. “Good evening, Mioda.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grins widely up at him, her nose bleeding over her lips and staining her teeth. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “Hi, Izzy! How’s it going!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” So he’s to be harangued by multiple coworkers today. Coworkers. There aren’t many other words for them all, but it feels like quite an understatement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She springs up to her feet, blood dribbling down her chin, now. “Come on! Come on come on comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon--” She takes him by the wrist; he snaps it back. If she gets too close again, she’ll be thrown for a second time. And it won’t end with just a bloody nose. It doesn’t dissuade her, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Izzy! I have something to show you! Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>me!” She stomps her foot on the floor and waves him on, not trying to touch him a second time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this going to be worth my time?” he asks, starting to follow her down the hall regardless. When Ibuki is involved, it’s bound to be...somewhat interesting. If not interesting, then something that’ll end up with him working his mind or body regardless. So he’ll follow. For now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She jumps up the concrete steps two or three at a time, her huge boots sending stomping echoes through the stairwell, up and down. His shoes click quietly behind the noise. He doesn’t have to make the noise--if he wanted, he could be completely silent all the time. But she keeps looking back, as if to make sure he’s still there. Silence would only increase the stares directed back at him. The color of her eyes looks almost as if it’s swirling around her pupils. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep up!” She beckons him on, hopping her way up the steps. She seems to be taking him all the way up to the roof. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They push a rusted door open out on the concrete roof. The wind is high and wicked today, whipping his hair and tie out to the side, threatening to take his jacket if he tries to take it off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to show me?” He has to raise his voice over the wind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She runs up to the edge of the roof, frantically waving him forward. “Come on! Come on! Come look!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps up to the edge with her. He’s not quite sure if he’s going to be pushed over the side or not. He wouldn’t quite mind. He’d survive the fall. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s been pushed. Junko is still a few floors below. If either of them fell, she’d see them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Komaeda is waiting outside by the door, for when Izuru leaves. He wasn’t told to do this, but he always does. He’d see Izuru or Ibuki fall. He wonders, just a bit, if he’d do anything about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we looking at?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She points. He follows her gaze to a rising, billowing pillar of smoke in the sky, being skewed deeply to the right by the wind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You started a fire again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! Ibuki wouldn’t bring Izzy up for just that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re burning down your motel. Or at least, what those silly townspeople think is your motel!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His spine stiffens. He can’t quite tell because of the wind--it probably isn’t where he and Komaeda have been sleeping, because they moved again last night. But perhaps he should go check that out. His journal is in that motel room. So are his pills. It would be a setback to lose  those. He has his mind to rely on, surely, but a pen and paper is its own form of thought. He would be inconvenienced if he and Komaeda lost their things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do they think I’m still there?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably, Ibuki thinks. You guys were the only ones there, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Others do tend to run when we come by.” He takes a seat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the edge in the free air. His hair was slowly growing more knotted as the wind grew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonder how they got a match lit in all this wind…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lighters still exist.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She plops down next to him. “You’re awfully chill about this, aren’t ya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We moved resting places last night. Nothing is irreplaceable.” That journal...technically isn’t replaceable. His memory is perfect. But to faithfully record his thoughts a second time seems more trouble than it would be worth. He lets loose a breath that could be misinterpreted as a sigh. “Do you have a particular goal in telling me this? Do you intend to gain from me in some way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, not really. Just thought you’d want to know.” She winks at him. “Better go deal with that!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will be fine.” He stares at the piles of smoke, clouding up the sky. “I don’t particularly care.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fair enough. Though you might have fun target practice with the arsonists, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say the thought appeals very much. They wouldn’t present a challenge.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” She gets up and moves behind him. “I’m gonna braid your hair. It keeps flying in Ibuki’s face.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As long as she doesn’t touch his skin, it’s fine by him. She slips off a stretchy bracelet and uses it to keep his hair in one place. He’ll have to cut it out later. She won’t care about that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits and watches the fire grow. Soon it’ll consume the entire street, and the reactionary arsonists will have realized their fatal mistake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Komaeda sees him sitting up on the roof and waves. He’s watching the fire from his own small perspective. Junko sees it out of her fifth story window and starts taking pictures. They’re all watching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t really matter that the motel will be gone. Izuru doesn’t like to return to places or stay in them long. He’s spent more than enough time in one room. The doors were always locked and reinforced, though it’s not as if he ever tried to leave. There was nothing to see on the other side, either. The same really goes for the many beds they’ve slept on. They blend together--there’s nothing to see but stains and nothing to feel but a box spring digging into his back while he shares the bed with someone who seems to be built all of sharp bones and angles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ibuki braids, and they all watch the fire grow. By tonight it will consume the whole city. He and Komaeda should leave soon, get their things and go. Once she’s done, he’ll leave. He has time. He has plenty of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t say the same for anyone else on that street, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hii thanks for making it to the end i hope u enjoyed this!! i love you and i hope your day's been going well. please make sure you've drank enough water today. i wish you all the best!!! see you soon :) </p><p>-fen &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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